


heaven will tremble before you

by blacksatinpointeshoes



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Game X, Gen, Ruby Tuesday, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/pseuds/blacksatinpointeshoes
Summary: The wind is whipping hard enough to sting at Paula’s eyes and despite everything she’s glued to the game, watching the figures in yellow and blue like her life depends on it. Like their lives depend on it, at the very least.Paula remembers the games that have defined her recent life.
Relationships: Paula Turnip & Esme Ramsey, Paula Turnip & Hades Tigers (Team), Paula Turnip & Richardson Games
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	heaven will tremble before you

Despite everything, Rebecca’s office always looks the same. Pale blue walls, big open window facing the street, wooden desk with gold feet, comfy couches. And Paula always sits in the same place, too. Entering the office feels like entering a place where time ceases to exist for just a moment so she can experience the calm, and take a breath.

Paula closes the door behind her. Rebecca is smiling, calm, warm. Paula is… not covered in blood. Paula is alive. Paula sits down in her regular place.

“Good afternoon, Paula,” Rebecca says, and she sounds kind, because she is. 

Paula nods, then remembers that she has to respond. “Hi.” She sounds like she’s been crying. She has been. 

“Is there anything that’s happened in the past week that you’d like to talk about?” Rebecca asks. She asks this every time. It’s part of their routine, always has been, for years. It got Paula through Landry and Combs and Mickey and Ruby Tuesday and all the rest. This is always how it starts. 

Paula stares at the wall.

“Paula?”

_ It was supposed to be good, is the thing. The Garages had been eliminated in game four of the semifinals which, Paula figured, after recovering from her competitive rush of hot frustration, was not too shabby of a record. It was supposed to be good, because for the first time since she’d entered this game, the Charleston Shoe Thieves were in the finals, and they weren’t going down without a fight.  _

_ It was supposed to be good, because Paula was in the stands with Fish and Genn, laughing between innings, reveling in the roar of the crowd after each hit and each run. It  _ was  _ good, because the Thieves won two games in a row and dragged the Crabs to game five, and they weren’t going down without a fight.  _

_ It wasn’t just good, it was magnificent. It was the bottom of the fucking ninth and Stu Trololol hit a three-run homer magnificent. It was the type of play that had Paula on her feet and the entire stadium with her, screaming with delight on the Thieves’ side of the stands and indignation on the Crabs’. The whole place felt alive, vibrant, vibrating with the force of it, and it wasn’t just good, it wasn’t just magnificent, it was the play of a lifetime and it was perfect.  _

“Paula, did you hear me?”

“What?”

“Did you hear me? I asked if you were okay.” Paula had not heard. She had been back in Choux Stadium. Rebecca runs a finger over her wedding band, thoughtfully, as she is wont to do.

“I was just thinking,” Paula says. Where does she start? Can she start at all? Paula says, “I don’t really know where to start.” 

“That’s okay,” Rebecca says. She always looks so encouraging, even when Paula can’t do the simplest of things. “Did you have breakfast this morning?”

Case in point. Rebecca always celebrates the smallest things. Paula thinks back. She doesn’t know, she can’t remember. Oh. So that’s where her mind is. Okay. “I’m not sure,” Paula says.

“Alright, that’s a starting place,” Rebecca says. She always calls things “starting places” and not “failures.” Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes Paula just wants to be screamed at. “Do you remember what you did after you woke up?” 

Well, she’s here, so she must’ve done something. She must’ve— “I made coffee,” Paula says. “I made toast so I didn’t drink the coffee on an empty stomach. I had breakfast.”

“That’s good!” Rebecca half-laughs, but it’s not at Paula, and it’s with kindness. Rebecca doesn’t laugh to be mocking, she laughs because her smile can’t hold all that pride. Paula smiles back. “That’s good. Did you have anything else?”

“A piece of fruit.” Easier to remember, now. 

“We don’t have to talk about anything yet,” Rebecca says, reading Paula’s mind.

“Okay.”

“Maybe a mindfulness exercise could get us back into the moment.” 

Paula hates mindfulness. “Sure.”

_ Because she’s not in that moment, not really. She’s in this one. She is in the moment when the skies shift and the winds pick up and the hair on the back of her neck stands up with it. She is in the moment where the pit in her stomach drops faster than the gloating god and all of a sudden she can’t breathe for the choking, desperate fear. _

_ And she’s not in that moment, either, she’s in Halifax, Canada, under the pitch black ceiling of the eclipse and her mind is racing and Moody’s going up in smoke and the only thing ringing in her ears is, “Screw you, Parker, I thought we had a fucking  _ deal!”  _ And the only thing flooding her senses is the bitter wish that the contract had been signed properly, consequences be damned.  _

_ It’s not the same in Charleston but for too many aching moments Paula would pay any price to stop Stu from hitting that last run, horror crawling into her chest and spinning a web there to fill the echoing emptiness.  _

_ Dix is going to die. Esme is going to die. They’re going to die and Paula is going to watch and she can’t do anything. She never can. _

_ There is so much noise that Paula doesn’t realize she’s part of it. The loudest part of it is a guttural sort of sob that pierces her ears and burns her throat and there is so much noise that Paula doesn’t realize it’s  _ her,  _ or that she’s crying. There is someone holding her shoulders. Someone taller than her. Fish.  _

_ Fish is catching the last ground out as Paula stands numb in the dugout staring at Scorpler’s bag with the water bottle sticking out of the top because they’d been about to take a drink before they went up to bat— _

“Hey. Hey, hey, are you still with me?” 

_ She’s not, because she’s in the throes of it now, the full-body memory, the smell of rust and lightning in the air, and the skies shift. Solar eclipse. The god roars discipline and the ground shakes. _

_ Dix is going to die. Esme is going to die.  _

“They’re going to die,” Paula says. Her voice is shaking, hoarse.

“Who do you feel is in danger right now?” Rebecca asks, and they’ve done this before, but it shouldn’t be happening right now, none of this should be—

_ Fish catches the ground out. Jessica hits a home run. Both times Paula’s choking on her own screams and begging this to be over and both times her mind has already immortalized it in a sick newsreel, playing back the highlights behind her eyelids. _

“All of them— all of us—”

“You’re not in any danger right now.”

“I’m always in danger—”

“Not now. Not here. You’re in my office. You’re real. You’re safe.”

_ The wind is whipping hard enough to sting at Paula’s eyes and despite everything she’s glued to the game, watching the figures in yellow and blue like her life depends on it. Like their lives depend on it, at the very least.  _

“They’re not—”

“Right now, Paula, this is about you. This is about you, and you’re safe.” 

It’s not about her. It’s never been about her. It is about Moody and Scorp. It’s about Yazmin, sweet Yazmin, who deserved to live more than anyone, who had barely stepped up to the mound to pitch when the umpire had pointed that cruel finger, like it could smell the Instability radiating off her. 

Fuck you, Parker. I thought we had a deal.

The wind dies down. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Paula mumbles, immediately.

“That’s okay.”

“Because— because it’s always like this.” 

“What’s always like this?” Rebecca asks. She knows the answer. She is not being cruel.

“The game, it’s— this isn’t new.” 

Rebecca sits back, mildly. “From what I saw, Paula, that was something pretty different. It’s alright if it’s shaken you.” 

“It’s not— that’s not— I’m upset, obviously, but— that’s the only thing I know.” Paula uselessly scrubs at her nose in frustration.

“What is?”

“That it’s— it’s not going to be the same.” She starts out hard, flat, furious. “And that whatever you think is going to happen is going to bite you in the ass. And that assuming the worst is never going to be enough because you can never fucking know what’s going to happen except that you  _ don’t know.”  _

There’s a bite in her tone that hurts more than the words do. Rebecca remembers Paula as a bright eyed Season 4 rookie who had more anger than she knew how to deal with and more hope than she had words for, armed with the impenetrable defense that with time and effort and people and work they could make a difference. 

This is the same woman, but Paula is nearly unrecognizable. She has new scars. New scratches and scrapes. New deep, aching cuts against her spirit, still weeping blood and determination; a new exhaustion beneath her eyes. 

Rebecca is suddenly and quietly overcome with a potent rage for what has happened: with no way out but death and no way forward but immeasurable grief, the only conceivable way of pushing through is this dull emotional shell, scraped together by grief and hardened with time. 

She’s a few seconds too late to reply, and Paula catches her falter. “I’m right,” she says, stubborn and bitter and angry. “You know I’m right. There’s no way to make this better.” 

“Maybe not right now,” Rebecca agrees. “This is clearly a much larger problem. Is that something you want to talk about right now?”

“No.” 

“Okay,” Rebecca says. “So how do we handle this moment? Let’s talk about that.” 

“I mean, there’s still the constant threat of death,” Paula says, her voice flat. “The Thieves are fucking cursed. I could’ve died in the last election. There’s no way to handle the moment when it’s this shit.”

Rebecca explores a few options, then simply nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Paula, you’re in a very difficult situation right now,” Rebecca says, her tone carefully neutral. “It is unfair, it’s dangerous, and it’s caused obscene amounts of hurt and grief to yourself and your loved ones. I won’t insult you by finding a bright side in your traumatic experiences. But I will open up this space for whatever you need, simply to exist. It will be safe for you, no matter what happens outside it.” 

Paula smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks.” 

“I won’t be bothered, no matter when you need support.” 

“Right.” 

“And if there’s anything I can do—”

“I will let you know, Rebecca. I will.” 

Outside, the sky darkens. Eclipse tomorrow. 

And so it goes.


End file.
